"The King's taken back the throne. The useless seed is sown" - Arcade Fire, 'Intervention'

Driving north and the news was of the Middle East in flames...Tripoli, Benghazi, Gadaffi with his berets, and all those Arab cats going crazy killing each other in the name of freedom.

Meanwhile, the Messiah is on the couch drinking beer and scribbling sad faces on T-shirts desperately trying to add some meaning into his life.

Y'can see where this is going, right?

Why can't Blair Marlin and Quik do a deal and get Dane to the Middle East? Hell, why not a contest? Get Slater and his team to build a wavepool and get it done. Dane could bust out a free hand-drawn tee for every suicide bomber. Surely this could stop the fighting?

But today a new candidate to bring peace to the Middle East and turn islamists into surf fans (surely the ASP's great as-yet unrealised mission) has been thrust into the forefront of our glorious sport. I speak, of course, about Matty Wilkinson, who blew the back out of it big-time today, on a day that confirmed that the tour really does come down to a dozen or so guys with the rest making up the numbers. Surely some canny suit must realise the advantage of a rebel tour with a dozen guys in the world's best waves, and a wavepool in the Gaza Strip. Surely? Money, fame and a Nobel Peace Prize await.

The morning was dominated by the surfing of Coco, Tyler and Carissa. F'reals. By the time the mens Round 3 started the surf and surfing fell into a weird kind of trance. Normally these short period swells have plenty of waves per hour but this one came on in strange bursts and an off-tempo rhythm that left surfers high and dry and in a strange way turned the tables on local knowledge.

Fanning fell early. Then Kerr and Melling in asymmetric heats that afforded no excitement for spectators.

The irregular wave rhythm concealed another bathymetric fact. To wit: the shape-shifting sandbar had been pushed wider on the morning high tide and the best waves were rolling through unridden. Slater would be watching.

Someone else was watching. The day was threatening to dissolve into a snooze-fest when Wilko paddled out. His hardcore training regime of tuning up chicks on Facebook and cruising the North Coast in search of fun times had inadvertently produced a devastatingly relaxed surfer in the Dane mold. Wilko's riding a cut-down 5'9" with increased template area in the nose. It's giving him increased planing area and an ability to push his backside surfing vertical through multiple variations in attack with no loss of speed. More than that though there was a Dionysian intensity in his emotional expression which lit the crowd up. His gargo Rodeo attempt freaked out Slater and made a statement of intent. The lack of sex appeal in this event from the withdrawal of the Messiah and the injury to Flores was today returned with interest by our shaggy friend. More than anything Wilko demonstrated a honed superiority of instinct which we know in its most helpful guise as that ineffable quality known as 'luck'.

Slater came straight after it. I went to the media tent in anticipation of an all-time scrum, something along the lines of a Middle Eastern protest march. Craziness. It's hard to underestimate the singleminded attractive force a full blown Kellygasm exerts on the media.

Slater was typically electrifying. He ruthlessly dispatched a kid who could have been his son. The rail catch as he gouged a deep turn after emerging from a throaty tuberide and then bodysurfed along the foam ball lit him up. If he made that it was a fifteen. Luck is with him. Luck means different things for Slater. It means his desire is coming into line with his awareness. A Slater victory at Snapper has traditionally signalled an easy title victory. This prophecy is strengthened by Fanning's early exit.

He was effusive without giving anything away. He joked, he flirted, he spread the love. This is a game. This is his game, for as long as he wants it, and he will play it however the fuck he wants. Anyone who was in that media scrum would've been disposed to violence against any suggesting Kelly retire.

Jordy started a little clumsily, as he always seem to do...when he nails the first hit/turn cleanly his power combinations deserve a World Title. No-one is displacing more water. I'm yet to be convinced he has the strategic awareness and mental acuity to go the distance. A strong result here will put him on track but there are structural barriers to a Jordy World Title which we will detail soon.

A little birdy told me yesterday that Shane Beschen is now coaching Jordy. I asked Jordy if Shane was whispering in his hear to destroy Slater. Jordy's response spoke volumes of his wounded pride, "I'm sure he's got his revenge fantasies but I'm sure pretty much everyone in pro surfing does".

Tell it like it is, brother. Irons was the only one to ride the energy of anger against Slater. There is the template.

Owen went down as low tide bottomed out and small sand drainers afforded almost unrideably tight transitions. Owen's loss demonstrated an unavoidable law of physics which all big guys on tour will have to face this year as the tour transitions to small wave venues. There will be a material advantage to smaller surfers in these venues. Owen, Parko, Jordy, and to a lesser extent Dane will all be easy prey for the small, nimble Brazilians in the beachbreak events. Taj and Kelly will be the top seeds to benefit most. The ASP is creating a tour which is disadvantaging their most talented and bankable athletes in the quest for short term gain.

Joel was in the water, behind the rock, in an afternoon heat. A rain squall had drifted behind the contest and a myriad of sun rays radiated out from behind the cloud, reaching the water. The rising sun insignia. Andy was here. A wave of sadness rose in my throat. A little boy was crying at my knee. He had lost his father. "Don't worry. We'll find him".

I don't know how Joel's surfing looked on screen. I don't really care. It created a feeling of joyous plenitude amongst the crowd as he threaded tubes and arced gracefully. It was spiritual. Andy was watching. Parko will need him this year. More than anyone on tour he is susceptible to the surf conditions. You could design a tour where he would be more likely than not to be World Champ multiple times. But now fate is once more conspiring to make his title run a quixotic venture.

I waited for the end of the media scrum and had the following chat to him, in a bid to ascertain his mental state in '11.

"You've had a couple of massive years with a lot of setbacks. What have you had to do to keep your mental approach positive?"

"I've sat on the couch for long enough to know I need to get out there. Soon as you get those big breaks you get that feeling of hunger and it doesn't ever leave, you know. The breaks just fuel it more".

"There must have been times of despair?"

"Sure (grins). Six months ago I didn't think I'd be able to walk again let alone surf again. Time heals all things and it's all over now."

"Has there been a mental toughening process dealing with these setbacks?"

"For sure. Yep. I definitely think I could go through a lot of other things now. It's kind of a preparation for things."

"Fitness now on a scale of one to ten?"

"11."

"Sick. It was awesome to see you back surfing out here"

"Cheers."

J-Dub lived up to the hype against Teebs. He may have been critically underscored on some super technical foam ball tuberiding in waves that only a Queensland sandbar could produce. He put a shot across the bows with his mad skills. He's come here fully cooked and realised as a pro surfer. It was a good end to the day.

Fuck...put the best surfers in the best waves and don't fuck up the heats on demand. It's a pretty simple formula when you break it down. Much easier than peace in the Middle East.

Shalom.